Chapter Two

"Truly St. James, in the flesh." Caitlin McCrory—tattooed, pink-haired goddess, and host of Unhinged—smiled from the open doorway of Studio 615. "Huge fan. I can't tell you how many friends I've bullied into reading your books. A Duchess in Disguise?" Caitlin kissed her fingertips. "Life-changing."

A blush crept into her cheeks. "I'm so happy you loved it. And sorry I'm late. The elevator's out of order."

"God no, you're right on time." Caitlin swept out a hand, gesturing Truly through the door. She wandered over to the gleaming silver bar cart wedged between an impressive stack of vinyl records and a desk covered in an array of computer equipment, leaving Truly unmoored in the middle of the room. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Hot tea? A martini, maybe? I know it's only after three, but it's after five o'clock somewhere, right?"

She rattled the ice in her latte. "I'm good, thanks."

Coffee, in retrospect, was not her brightest idea. The jitters were beginning to set in, and the abundance of caffeine circulating through her bloodstream wasn't helping. Podcasts—any promo that required she speak—made her nervous on a good day. And this? Was a no good, terrible, very bad day.

Caitlin snagged a bottle of smartwater off the bar cart. "Have a seat. Make yourself at home. Just watch for the mic cords so you don't trip."

Truly took a seat on the plush-looking neon-yellow velvet sectional that was nestled against the cobalt accent wall, three fluffy-looking Barbie-pink microphones positioned nearby.

"I know this is far from your first rodeo, but do you have any questions while I finish setting up and we wait for—speak of the devil." Caitlin set her hands on her leather-pant-clad hips. "You're late, asswipe."

She didn't know what the guy standing in the doorway had done to Caitlin to earn a greeting that abrasive, but fuck was he gorgeous. All mole-splattered skin and brown doe-eyes framed with black lashes so thick that at first glance she'd have sworn he was wearing eyeliner. Actually, no, brown wasn't right. Her eyes were brown, but his were the color of the tiger's-eye wedged in her front pocket, the one she'd handpicked out of a big crate of polished stones on a fifth-grade field trip to Greenwater. The same stone she brought with her to every event for good luck. Dark penny shot through with tawny and gold. Chestnut hair fell in swooping waves across his forehead and grazed the collar of the lavender sweater-vest he wore over a plain white tee that hugged his biceps.

"Hi." Tiny creases formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled and offered her his hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Colin."

His hand dwarfed hers, his long, thick-knuckled fingers folding around her palm as soon as she reached out, accepting the handshake. Chipped remnants of purple polish adorned three of his nails, and the oddest assortment of rings decorated his fingers.

Her breath hitched, brain buzzing, head full of static.

"I'm nice to meet." Fuck. "I mean, likewise. Truly. Is my name. And it is also nice to meet you."

Colin laughed. Not a mean laugh, but one that sounded like he genuinely found her funny. "My sister's done nothing but talk my ear off about you agreeing to record this episode. She's a huge fan."

"Yeah, yeah, I already fangirled in an appropriate manner. Now, I'm sure Truly has important things to do and we shouldn't keep her any longer than necessary. Why doesn't everyone sit?"

Oh yeah, important things like going home to her empty apartment, ordering copious amounts of takeout, and figuring out what the hell she was doing with her future now that it had a Justin-shaped hole in it.

"Any questions before we get started?"

Her publicist had briefed her, and she'd gone back and forth with Caitlin via IG DMs to fill in any blanks, but she liked her i's dotted and t's crossed. "We're giving relationship advice to your listeners? Viewers?" She wasn't sure what to call them since, while technically Unhinged was a podcast, episodes were also recorded and uploaded to YouTube and Instagram. "Kind of like Loveline?"

"Exactly, only minus the medical advice and not live, obviously." Caitlin sat, long legs sprawling across the chaise side of the sectional. "Basically, I was thinking it would be cool to give advice from two different perspectives—that of a romantic and that of a realist."

Three guesses who Truly was and the first two didn't count.

Romantic advice. She could do that. She just needed to channel the Truly of this morning before she walked in on Justin. Or the Truly of two weeks ago before she'd agreed to Justin's bullshit desire to go on a break. Or the Truly of four years ago whose first book had just come out, the Truly who remembered what it felt like to have butterflies.

"Awesome," she said, trying inconspicuously to make sure she wasn't visibly sweating through her pale blue seersucker blouse. All clear, praise extra-strength deodorant.

"And you, Colin? Any questions?"

"Nah. All good." He grabbed a bottle of water off the bar cart before joining Truly on the couch. He was taller than her—not that that was saying much, since even the occasional sixth grader surpassed her in height. But he wasn't too tall, not like Justin, whose mouth she'd had to stand on tiptoe to reach—and why on Earth was she thinking about how nice it would be not to have to crane her neck if she and Colin kissed?

Lulu was right. She should've canceled. Clearly, she was going through something. Losing her mind because even if Lulu thought it was the best way to get over someone, Truly didn't believe in rebounds. She was a relationship girl, a one-partner—man, woman, gender didn't matter to her—girl. She didn't know how to separate sex and feelings, so until she was ready to date? Ménage à moi, it was.

Caitlin fiddled with the shock mount of the mic in front of her. "Of course, Colin's the realist to your romantic." Of course. "I'll be here, facilitating the conversation. Giving my two cents—"

"Giving us shit," Colin said, grinning, a little wrinkle forming along the bridge of his cute nose. Yes, cute. Ever so slightly upturned, giving him a puckish quality totally at odds with his broad shoulders and thick thighs that strained the denim of his dark wash jeans.

Caitlin threw a pen at him. He ducked and the BIC hit the wall behind him with a soft tink. "Giving you shit. I'd never dream of deriding Truly."

"Are you a relationship therapist? Couples' counselor?" She racked her brain for what sort of job a relationship realist might have. "Life coach?"

"Colin's a divorce attorney."

Talk about throwing a glass of cold water on her libido.

"Family law, technically," he said. "But I do handle divorces."

Relationships ended. Hello. People got divorced. Hell, Lulu was divorced and good riddance to her ex because Dan was a prick and Lulu deserved so much better. Truly loved love as much as the next person, but no one deserved to spend their life tethered to someone who wasn't right for them, wasn't good to them.

Still. Divorce was one of those realities of life she preferred not to think about unless it was staring her in the face. Like death and taxes and Pap smears. Someone had to be a mortician, a CPA, a gynecologist. She respected that. But being a divorce lawyer sounded like such a dirty job. Depressing, watching people who had once vowed to love each other forever suddenly bicker over 401ks and alimony. Their whole lives, ones they had built together, reduced to assets.

Being a romance writer was more than her job—it was who she was. What did Colin's job say about him? What little kid dreamed of being a divorce lawyer?

"And that makes you qualified to give relationship advice?" She cringed. "Sorry. That was rude. I only meant—"

"It's fine." Colin's smile was warm and a little lopsided, the corners of his eyes creasing. If he was offended, it didn't show. "To be honest, I'm probably not qualified to be giving anyone advice. But my sister seems to think I am. And I'm incapable of saying no to her, so here I am."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "He's being modest. Colin's a champ at spotting a red flag."

Fair enough. Anyone who spent that much time watching the dissolution of marriages had to have a decent working knowledge of what spelled doom for a relationship.

"If you don't have any other questions, quick run of show—I'll introduce you both and we'll dive right in. If you lose your train of thought or want to start a sentence over, just take a breath, and I can edit it out in post. Sound good?"

Truly nodded and so did Colin.

"Okay, here we go. In three... two... one..." Caitlin smiled at the camera. "Welcome back, my little heathens, to a new episode of Unhinged. I'm your host and the devil on your shoulder, Caitlin McCrory. You all are in for a treat because today I have not one, but two guests joining me for a special episode all about"—she dropped her voice—"relationships. Anything goes today, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. Which, if you know me, is saying something." Caitlin's smirk widened, totally in her element. "I opened my inbox last week, for all of you lovely listeners to submit your most burning questions about love and sex—though, for the dude who wrote in seeking help for some literal burning, I'm going to advise you contact your primary care physician. On that note, a reminder that neither myself nor my esteemed guests are medical professionals. But"—she paused, tossing Colin a grin—"we do have a legal expert in the house today. Please welcome our first guest, the dipshit who stole my first Barbie, my brother, Colin McCrory."

He flipped her off with a grin. "I can't believe you're still bringing that up twenty years later. Get over it."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "Colin, the heartless bastard that he is, has a decade of experience working as a family lawyer here in the Emerald City and as I was telling our second guest, he can spot a red flag a mile away. And speaking of our second guest, I'm ecstatic to introduce none other than the internationally bestselling author of over a dozen historical romances, Truly St. James."

Blood rushed to Truly's cheeks, her blush deepening as Caitlin cheered, Colin clapping beside her. Truly smiled at the camera and waved.

"Her books have been translated into over ten languages and featured by outlets such as the Washington Post,NPR, the New York Daily News, BuzzFeed, and Cosmo. Entertainment Weekly named Truly ‘one of historical romance's brightest stars' and called her most recent release ‘a triumph.' When Truly isn't writing, she can be found haunting her local coffee shop here in Seattle and—okay, I have a question for you, Truly. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but is that really your name? Truly?"

"It is." She cleared her throat as quietly as possible, hating how her nerves turned her voice thready. "My parents, they're big into theater. My dad's the artistic director of the Emerald City Repertory Theatre and my mom is a retired stage actress. Emerald City Rep was putting on a rendition of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, my dad was the show's orchestral conductor, and my mom was cast as one of the leads, Truly Scrumptious. That's how they met. Hence, the name. This August, they will have been married thirty-three years."

"Truly, all I can say is, thank God your parents didn't meet on Funny Girl, because Fanny St. James doesn't exactly scream sexy historical romance novelist."

"I don't know." Colin looked thoughtful. "In the UK, fanny does mean—uh..."

Caitlin leaned her hand on her chin, grin devious. "Go on, Colin. Say pussy on air. Make my day."

The tips of his ears pinked and Truly had no business finding it as adorable as she did. "Aren't we supposed to be giving relationship advice or something?" Colin asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, we are." Caitlin flipped to her next notecard. "So, we've got a realist"—she pointed at Colin—"we've got a romantic"—she gestured to Truly, Vanna White–style—"and we've got listeners in desperate need of relationship advice. And these two are going to give it to you straight." Caitlin paused, lips quirking. "Or you know, not, because this podcast is many things, but straight isn't one of them. But before we get down to it, I want to know—Colin, do you self-identify as a realist? And if so, how do you define that in your own words?"

His brow furrowed and his lips parted and... wasn't that a sight? His bubblegum-pink tongue sweeping out against his plush bottom lip, wetting it. "I would say I am, yes. I prefer to accept and deal with situations and people as they are, not what they could be."

"You heard it here, folks, my brother the realist." Caitlin turned to Truly. "Truly, same question. Do you self-identify as a hopeless romantic and how do you define that?"

"I wouldn't say I'm hopeless." She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at the camera. "But yeah, I'm a romantic. I've never met two people more perfect for each other than my parents. Even after thirty-three years, they're just as madly in love with each other as they were the day they met. I've never even seen them fight before. That's how perfect they are for each other."

"Are you serious?" Caitlin sounded shocked. "Never?"

"No. Never. They've served as a sort of... blueprint for me for what a relationship should look like. And I guess that's what makes me a romantic. I believe in happily ever afters because I've seen one in real life."

It was a variation on what she said anytime someone asked her, why romance? Because she'd witnessed a forever love, a love that could go the distance—persevering through a cancer diagnosis (Dad), a dementia diagnosis in a parent (Mom's mom) that led to home health care, the subsequent death of all four of Truly's grandparents, even a random IRS audit.

Lesser couples would have folded after just one of those bumps in the road. But Dad still bought Mom flowers every Sunday and they still slow danced—poorly—to music only they could hear.

That's why she wrote the books she did—to remind readers that love was real and it was out there and to never give up hope.

Not even upon discovering your fiancé was a lying, cheating douchenozzle.

"God, that's dreamy." Caitlin smiled. "I love that. All right, now that you all know a little more about Truly and Colin, without further ado, let's get to it." Caitlin tossed that notecard over her shoulder, moving on to the next. "Dear Caitlin Co., I've been with my boyfriend for almost seven months. He's a great guy, we share a lot of common interests, he makes me laugh, and my family really likes him, which is important to me. There's just one problem—not once has he ever gone down on me."

Never? Yeesh. Poor thing.

Caitlin continued, "I tried to talk to him about it and he didn't have much to say, only that ‘it's not his thing.' It's not like I don't occasionally get off when I'm with him, but I won't lie and say that it doesn't suck that I'm, well, willing to suck and he won't reciprocate. Any advice? Signed, Sick and Tired of Being an Uptown Girl." Caitlin sighed deeply and slumped back against the couch. "Oh, Uptown Girl. My deepest condolences that your boy won't go downtown for you. Truly? Colin? Either of you want to start us off and give our girl some advice?"

Colin looked at her, brows raised, the left corner of his mouth quirking higher than the right, and there was no way she was imagining the way his voice went slightly husky as he murmured, "Ladies first?"

It wasn't her fault that she was suddenly picturing Colin McCrory repeating those words as he made a home for his head between her thighs.

"What a gentleman." Truly flashed a smile and looked away, feigning interest in the mic in front of her. Anything except for his stupidly pink mouth.

"No one should feel pressured to do anything—sexually or otherwise—that they don't feel comfortable with. Consent is paramount. Full stop. There are plenty of reasons why someone might not feel comfortable with performing certain sexual acts. It could be trauma, it could be a lack of experience manifesting as an insecurity. Or maybe your boyfriend doesn't know how to get you off orally and he's afraid of looking stupid, so he'd rather not try. Or maybe it's just patriarchal socialization courtesy of the internet and bad porn so he thinks his cock is, like, God's gift to womankind or something and believes you should be satisfied with intercourse alone. Who's to say? I don't know and you don't know, either, clearly, or else you wouldn't have written in, because all he's told you is that it's not his thing. He could be lazy or selfish or traumatized and you don't know because he's not communicating, which might not be the issue you wrote in about, but I do believe it's a big one."

She paused, catching her breath. She had a bad tendency to speak too fast when she was nervous and today was no exception.

"A lot of women, people, are afraid of hurting their partner's feelings so they'd rather stay silent than rock the boat and risk rejection, but that's not going to serve either of you. Unexpressed anger or even just frustration is going to breed resentment. I think Uptown Girl needs to consider, one, whether the lack of reciprocity is a deal-breaker for her and, two, whether she can handle her boyfriend's lack of an explanation. And then she needs to tell him."

"You heard it here first, communication. All the cool kids are doing it. Truly, thank you so much. Colin, what words of wisdom do you have to impart upon our poor Uptown Girl?"

"Short answer?" Colin said. "Honestly, I don't see you and your boyfriend working out long term, Uptown Girl. Long answer? It sounds to me like sexual compatibility isn't the only issue you two are up against. Sounds like he might be conflict averse and not exactly the most communicative considering his lackluster if not defensive response to the question of why he isn't willing to, er, orally reciprocate, which isn't our business, but certainly is yours. Not his thing could mean just about anything, but without further explanation? It sounds like a cop-out to me. I'm also slightly concerned at the phrasing"—Colin cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning pink—"occasionally get off with him. Not sure if I'm paraphrasing there or—"

"No." Caitlin shook her head. "That is unfortunately verbatim."

"Yeah." Colin cringed. "That phrase isn't inspiring a lot of confidence in me. Personally." He held up his hands. "I'm not saying sex needs to be a tit-for-tat sort of deal—don't fucking make a joke, Caitie—it's more complex than that, or I guess it should be, but there is something to be said for all parties being on the same page regarding satisfaction and I'm getting the sense that's not happening here. Does he care about your pleasure at all or is it incidental to him? In my opinion, your partner should worship at the altar of your body and if they don't, they're probably not the partner for you."

Color her impressed. Colin McCrory wasn't entirely hopeless.

"Truly, Colin, I want to extend my sincerest thanks for handling that with such aplomb." Caitlin's gaze flitted to the notecard in her hands. "Fair warning, this next question is a bit of a doozy and quite possibly divisive. Dear Caitlin Co., My partner and I have been together for just over three years. I'm happy and I thought she was happy until recently, she sat me down and said she wants to take a break. We're both supposed to be starting grad school in the fall, but now she says she's thinking about deferring for the semester and backpacking in Spain with a group of friends. She told me she needs to prioritize herself and that she doesn't have the energy to devote to our relationship right now, but I don't understand why she can't go on this trip and put her needs first without us having to press pause on our relationship."

It was eerie how this stranger had ripped a page right out of Truly's diary. Eerie enough that she had to tamp down the urge to shift uneasily.

"I asked her if she wants to break up and she was adamant she doesn't," Caitlin continued. "I'm feeling uneasy about this whole thing, but I really don't want to lose her. Help! Signed, Dazed and Confused. Colin? Since Truly went first on our last question, do you want to start us off?"

"Sure." He crossed one leg over the other, left ankle resting across his right knee, dark denim tightening across his thighs, straining. "Change can be really frightening, and I can see why the idea of taking a break might make you feel uncertain. To be perfectly honest, the stats aren't in your favor. Roughly eighty percent of married couples who separate end up divorcing. Grim, I know, but that being said, I don't think what your partner is suggesting is necessarily a bad thing."

"Way to give us whiplash," Caitlin said.

It was like she'd read Truly's mind.

"Hold on. They aren't married, so those stats I mentioned? Not entirely relevant to their situation. Dazed and Confused mentioned grad school, so I'm assuming they're both young? Early to mid-twenties? Recent studies show that roughly sixty percent of couples who get married between twenty and twenty-five divorce. Not that they said they were discussing marriage, but it sounds like Dazed and Confused's partner realizes she has some growing to do and, if she takes this time now, and if they're able to make it work, big if granted, perhaps she'll wind up being a better partner in the long run."

"A better partner to someone else." The words escaped before Truly had even realized she'd opened her mouth.

Both Colin and Caitlin stared at her.

Heat flooded her cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, by all means." Colin smiled. "That's what this is about, right? Different perspectives? I'd love to hear what you have to say."

Even before she'd been burned by Justin, even before he'd suggested taking a break, she'd never been sold on the concept. Sure, she'd clung to the hope of having a stronger, happier relationship, but a tiny, niggling voice in the back of her head had whispered something wasn't right.

Maybe at first blush it didn't seem like what a dyed-in-the-wool romantic would say, but she could hardly in good conscience advise someone to ignore their gut the way she had.

Truly perfected her posture, leaning in toward the mic. "Let's be generous and go with Colin's interpretation of Dazed and Confused's partner's motivations and say she realizes she needs to grow. What's stopping her from doing that with Dazed and Confused? Why does her growth necessitate distance from her partner and their life together—be it physical or emotional? No offense, but the entire concept of taking a break is bullshit to me. It's nothing more than inviting in unnecessary uncertainty. Are you allowed to call them? Are you still exclusive? What if you have—"

"I think those are all things Dazed and Confused and their partner should discuss so that their time apart can be constructive."

"I wasn't finished." She tugged on the hem of her skirt, hands shaking. "As I was saying—is your partner really looking to grow, or is it just an excuse to hook up with someone new? There's nothing romantic about not being someone's first priority. Don't you want to be the first thing they think about in the morning and the last thing they think about at night? Don't you want to be with someone who can't stand the idea of being apart from you? Shouldn't you be their confidant and their rock and their—their port in a storm? Shouldn't they be yours? Are they always going to ask for space in a crisis? What kind of relationship do you have if you're the first thing on the chopping block every time the going gets hard? What sort of faith does that instill, huh? What if you're the one going through a crisis? What if you need them? What about for better or for worse? What if you get sick? Are they going to run for the hills every time the going gets tough?"

Everything she'd said was some variation of what Lulu had told her two weeks ago, advice she wished—because of course, hindsight was twenty-twenty—she'd listened to. If she could spare someone else the heartache? She was all for speaking the truth.

Colin stared. "Hm."

She stared back. "What's hm supposed to mean?"

"I feel like you're making a lot of assumptions here."

"The writing's on the wall. A break is nothing more than delaying the inevitable."

"That's a little reductive, don't you think?"

"I don't, actually. Seeing as I said it."

"Are you familiar with attachment styles?"

What? "Sure." Vaguely. Ish.

Colin steepled his fingers and nodded slowly, chipped purple polish glinting in the bright glow of the ring light. "Interesting."

Her tongue poked against the side of her cheek. "What exactly is so interesting about that?"

He shrugged, shoulders rising slowly and falling leisurely, irritatingly nonchalant and stupidly graceful. "I'm no psychologist, but based on what I know of attachment styles, it sounds like the concerns you've outlined are that of an anxious attachment. Low self-esteem, fear of rejection or abandonment, clinginess..."

Crimson tinged the edges of her vision. "Clingy—" She scoffed. "I didn't come here to—to..."

A telltale burning took up residence behind her lids, her throat suddenly tight.

Shit.

The reality of catching Justin cheating, the fact that her longest relationship, the one that was supposed to be forever, was over... it was finally hitting her. That was it. It had to be. Otherwise she was just a weirdo who cried when pissed and how pathetic was that? She didn't shed a single tear upon catching Justin in the act and yet this... this stranger had managed to get under her skin? No. No, it was a latent reaction.

Colin's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. "You didn't come here to... what, exactly?"

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into the skin of her palms. She would not flip him off. She wouldn't.

She took a deep breath and unclenched her jaw. "I didn't come here to be psychoanalyzed by some guy whose only expertise lies in unhappily ever afters."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Okay, now that's definitely reductive."

Screw this. She had better things to do than sit here and let some guy, some lawyer, call her reductive and clingy and tell her she feared abandonment as if he knew a single goddamn thing about her life. Even if she didn't have better things to do, anything would be preferable to sitting here another second.

Truly stood. "Caitlin, thank you so much for thinking of me for your podcast. Really."

Caitlin's brows slanted low, the jut of her bottom lip suggesting concern rather than anger. "Maybe if we take five and cool off we can—"

Truly shook her head, already inching in the direction of the door. The day had gone from bad to abysmal and she wasn't keen on sticking around for it to get worse. "Sorry for wasting your time, but no." She threw a scowl over her shoulder in Colin's general direction. "I don't think so."